Music and people hold my life together. I describe experiences, discoveries and insights, often connected with music and with teaching and playing piano. The blog is a way to stay in touch with friends, and may also be food for thought for anyone else, especially people connected with music and the piano/
Musik und Menschen halten mein Leben zusammen. Ich beschreibe Erfahrungen, Entdeckungen und Einsichten, oft in Zusammenhang mit dem Klavierspiel und dem Klavierunterricht.

Friday, December 28, 2012

Recording the entire Book II of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier has kept me busy throughout December. I wasn’t aiming for studio quality, no splicing - due to lack of equipment and technical knowledge - just home-style, acceptable, good enough for people to listen to and get an idea of the pieces between the sessions that will mark our listening journey through the book, which starts in February.

I don’t like to record. The stress of a performance without the energy of a living audience wears me out. Against all odds - which included a hissing radiator, cats playing with the bell on the scratch pole, and the garbage truck, that always appeared in the street when I had silenced everything else - I had made it to the last piece yesterday. Relieved, I turned the page to the Fugue No 24 in B- minor. A date at the top of the page tells me when I’ve first learnt it: February 7, 2006. The piece has been my companion for a long time, and yet, even before I begin to play, I know what challenge I’m up against: the trills at the beginning.

Siddhartha, the bell-ringer on the scratch pole

There is some freedom regarding ornaments in baroque music, but here, Bach wrote in the trills. He must have really wanted them, and I’m determined to fulfill his wishes. After six years, almost seven years of struggle, it’s more stubbornness than respect, an attitude of “I’m going to do it and I don’t care what it takes.” I can play the trills as long as there are two voices only, but once the third voice comes in, and the trill is in the middle voice in Ms 18 and 20, it’s all over. I just can’t do it. I’ve taken those measures apart and put them back together a million times. I’ve played them slowly, played them fast, made clear to myself exactly which notes and which fingers line up together - nothings works, and here I go again.

I can’t leave them out, either. My fingers have gotten so used to doing some kind of a fast fumble in this spot that I need to do something. Suddenly, an option comes to mind that has saved many tricky spots in other Preludes and Fugues. Seymour’s “magic trill” - instead of eight 32nds, break up the two 8th- beats into two 16ths triplets. To put it simple: fill the same time with fewer notes that are slightly slower, and you get a more convincing result. Relieved, the trills began to bubble out of my fingers.

J.S. Bach, Fugue No 24 in b-minor, WTC II, Ms 18 - 20

Often, less is more, and you have to let go of stubborn ideas so that things can fall into place. Thanks to Seymour Bernstein for the inspiration to that insight, and for many others that he has conveyed to me over the years of studying with him.

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

My friend Bill Edwards, who has a lot of experience with cats through his work in cat therapy, had suggested that Genie's foster parents rub him down with a towel and send it to us before his arrival, so that Siddhartha could get a sniff. This can facilitate the adjustment of the two cats.

Let's have dinner - the cats were the only ones having turkey, the humans had a vegetarian meal
Abendessen. Nur die Katzen hatten Truthahn, die Menschen hatten ein vegetarisches Essen.

Do you think there's going to be dessert?
Meinst du es gibt Nachtisch?

We want pumpkin pie!!!
Wir wollen Kuerbiskuchen!!!

Grooming

Clarinda with Genie and Siddhartha.
They would not be alive, if she hadn't rescued them from the New York City ACC.
Clarinda mit Genie und Siddhartha.
Die beiden waeren nicht mehr am Leben, wenn sie sie nicht aus dem Tierheim in New York adoptiert haette.

Siddhartha and Genie are getting adjusted. There is a little bit of a personality conflict. Genie Ramses, now 5 months old, was picked up as a kitten with his mother as a stray. He is very confident, an alpha male if there ever was one, a kid who takes what he wants. You don't have to bond with him, he'll bond with you, and he's as cuddly as could be, purring all the time.
Siddhartha, supposedly 4, but we don't think he's more than a year old, lost his home when he was surrendered by his owner. He has a hard time standing his ground; if Genie wants to sit on the cat tree, he'll just let him. He's very affectionate, but sometimes appears a little sad over having to share his human and his toys. The fact that Genie always beats him at "crinkle ball"- because he's so much smaller, flexible and faster, doesn't exactly help to boost Sid's confidence either, even though he's better with the cat dancer - and so much bigger and stronger. But looking at the two cats bird-watching together makes me hopeful that they'll become good friends.

PS : By the way, Gina, Genie Ramses mother, is still waiting for a loving home. Here she is:

The lovely Gina

Meet Gina, the queen o' my heart. This svelte and chic young lady in basic black accented with white came to Omaha from New York City, to find a cozy furever home. Gina is a sweet and quiet lover, gentle, gracious, affectionate, and wise beyond her youth. (She may be as young as a year to 1 year old.) Gina is spayed, tested, and current on vaccinations. Gina prefers a quiet household, suited to her quiet, peaceful ways. She would probably prefer a home without dogs or young children, and with a limited number of other cats. (Ideally, Gina would love to be an only cat, but she's willing to make concessions!) In exchange for these peaceful and calm environs, Gina will reward you by sharing with you her elegance and all the affection of her loving heart.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

“ I think you can forget about that,” said the father of one of my students on Friday evening before the storm, when I told him I was planning to go into the city for a piano lesson the following Monday. At the moment, I didn’t have time to worry about the storm yet. Saturday morning I had to teach, right afterwards I took the bus into the city for the dress rehearsal for the choir concert on the following day. “This is going to be a major storm,” said a friend. “Do you have everything, batteries, candles, water and so forth?” “I have some time tomorrow morning to get things together, before the choir concert,” I replied, reluctant to latch on to the panic bug. Then, I took the subway to the 92nd Street Y to hear Andras Schiff play the first book of the Well-Tempered Clavier. I got home late, and I didn’t get up very early. I didn’t expect that I wouldn’t make into the city again until the following Thursday.
The sky looked like lead and seemed to hang lower than usual. WQXR, New York’s classical radio station, announced evacuations in the city and a possible shut down of public transport. This didn’t sound good. Better get going, to get some things together. At the store, I met Vianel, my landlady, who asked whether I had candles and batteries and everything I might need during the expected blackout. I was still using up the batteries I had bought for last year’s storm. We hadn’t lost power then, but we had no water for almost a week. Fortunately, I went on vacation the following day, but the memory of the little I had experienced was enough to make me schlepp eight gallons of drinking water. In the course of doing that I sprained my back and bruised my lip, hitting it against the handle of the luggage cart, when I attempted to carry a box with four containers up the stairs in a single effort.

What do you eat when the power goes out? I wondered, marveling at the people who were piling frozen food into their shopping carts at the supermarket. I tried to remember what we used to eat when we went biking in the summer as college students. We never cooked, and we only had money for a hot meal every couple of days. Bread and cheese would keep a while, a bag of apples, dried fruit, peanuts, crackers, rice cakes, Nutella, peanut butter. The international supermarket had chosen the perfect time for a special offer on German chocolate!

By noon, I had stocked up on supplies. News were out that the subway and buses in New York City would shut down at 7pm. The choir director sent an e-mail announcing that the concert at 5pm would be shortened and sung without a break, to finish at 6:30 sharp. I could walk from East 80th and Lexington to Port Authority on 42nd and 8th Avenue, I do that most of the time anyway. So far, New Jersey Transit promised to run throughout the evening, but I wouldn’t catch a bus until 8 pm.

Memories of my first year in New Hampshire started to surface. 10 hours on the bus between New York City and Boston in a blizzard, moving along the highway at 10 mph - the trip usually takes 4 hours. Arriving in Boston, I saw the 8 pm bus to Concord disappear in the snow. The 10 pm bus was cancelled, and I was stuck in a city where I didn’t know anyone. I found accommodation in the youth hostel, called my colleague, who took care of my cat Cappuccina, and got home the next morning. All is well that ends well, but I wasn’t too eager to repeat the experience.

As long as you’re in a place that’s safe and warm, I’ve always found snowstorms somewhat peaceful. They dump a lot of snow, everything gets very quiet and shuts down. The approaching hurricane was going to be violent. I had a young cat at home, and whatever happened, I wanted to be with him. I called in, cancelled my participation in the choir concert and began to wonder what I should do while we still had power:

-cook a nice warm meal

work on the computer

make phone calls to Germany

I made quite a few of those that afternoon, reassuring my friends that I do not live on the coast, and in my second floor apartment I didn’t have to fear flooding - unless the roof got a leak or blew away. Sunday evening around 6 pm I went out for a walk for the last time before the storm. It was getting dark, and it started to drizzle slightly.

The back yard in the rain

Monday started rainy and gray. The trees looked surprisingly still, except for occasional strong gusts of wind. How do you manage to get the information you need and and keep you mental balance by staying out of the way of the hysteria promoted by the mass media? I found a government website with a weather chart that looked very scientific and objective. Unfortunately, I was unable to decode it, I only understood that the situation was serious.

The rain is splashing against the windows

I packed an emergency bag - most important, next to the documents: things to occupy the mind, my pocket score of the Well-Tempered Clavier and a recording of it, my favorite mystery, an audio book, the disc player, batteries, some crafts materials. I convinced Siddhartha that you have to carry an ID in times of emergency and put the collar with his tag on him. It shines in the dark, and it occurred to me that this made sense - can you imagine trying to find a black cat at night?

Siddhartha on storm watch

We waited for the storm. More phone calls, work on the computer, practicing. Fortunately, the piano does not run on batteries. The rain started to pound on the windows forcefully, making it hard to concentrate. The darkness outside made me feel completely at the mercy of the elements. It was good to see that the neighbors‘ lights were still on. Around 7:30 pm strong gusts of wind were shaking the house. I stopped practicing, and began to wrap the piano and the keyboard with the tarps I bought for the hurricane last summer. It’s hard to tell if it would do anything, if a window breaks or the roof takes off, but at least it gives me the feeling that I’ve done everything I can.

The piano wrapped up for the storm

Siddhartha checks whether it's fastened

"Yes, I think that will hold"

Staying away from the windows is wishful thinking, my desk that has the internet connection is right by the window, so is the sofa and the bed. I had positioned flash lights and candles in every room, and I tried to remember where they were. The wind had changed direction, it was howling and pounding against the house. In the dark of the night it was good to hear voices downstairs. I wondered whether Jose and Vianel would mind me joining them and their family if I got too scared. They have two dogs, though, and we might get a storm of a different kind if I I joined with Siddhartha, even if he’s in his carrier.

It was a possibility to fall back on if the worst came to the worst, but for the time being, we were going to hang in there. Keep your calm and give the mind something to do. It was reassuring to hear the voice of the announcer from the radio. Listening to classical music from WQXR, I wrote the blog on Andras Schiff’s concert. Siddhartha was snoozing on the couch next to me. That way, we passed the next few hours.

"I've worked hard, now I need to rest. Who cares if there's a storm."

The light flickered twice and the power went out, but it came back on even before I lit the candles. By 11pm, the wind was still strong, but it seemed that the worst was over. I stayed up for another hour and a half. At 12:30 I wrote an e-mail to my friend Carol in Brooklyn before going to bed. That was the moment when WQXR disappeared from the air - they lost power, and it took a while before the generator kicked in, we learnt the next morning.

In my apartment the power, phone and internet had stayed on! News of the devastation in Manhattan south of 34th street and the coastal areas of New Jersey started to make the round, and I asked myself what I had done to have gotten away. Even though nothing was wrong I felt as if I’d been run over by a truck. I tried to call a couple of people, but wherever the power was out - and that seemed to be the case in most places - you couldn’t reach anyone.

It was Tuesday, my teaching day in Maplewood. Schools were closed, but since we had power, I offered my students a choice, to come for a lesson or schedule a make-up later. Of course, I invited everyone to recharge computers or simply hang out and warm up. Most people had already found opportunities to do that - at the library, the work place, friends, relatives or neighbor’ houses who had electricity.

Most students came for their lesson. Flexibility was needed for the schedule throughout this week and into the next. Many roads were blocked, and trips that usually take five minutes took half an hour and more. - “I’m so glad to get out of the house,” was a comment I hear more than once. Due to downed power lines, it wasn’t safe to be outside, especially for the children. About 65% of households in Maplewood had lost electricity, there would be no school for a week at least and for many, time stretched out endlessly. My suggestion: “You’ll never have so much practice time again. Make use of the chance.”

Wednesday in the late afternoon I finally left the house. I had assumed that the writer’s group at the Montclair public library that I go to every other week hadn’t met - and if they had, there was no way to get there - public transport wasn’t running. It was eerie outside, grey skies, and temperatures were dropping. My first impression: last year, after the hurricane in the summer and the ice storm, our street looked much worse, with branches and debris blown all over the place. Just around the corner, I found a different situation. Two houses had been hit by big trees that fell over. Behind our back yard, the gym of St Andrew Kim‘s church got a hit as well, by a large tree that split down the middle.

Fallen trees on Woodside Road

Road block on Parker Avenue

Storm damage, Woodside Road. The trees just fell over.

Storm damage, St. Andrew Kim Church

Groups of young people were roaming the streets with nothing to do. The International Supermarket was closed, the one on Irvington Avenue, just two blocks away from where I live, was open! Not that I needed anything, but it felt good to know that supplies hadn’t been cut off altogether.

The store seemed to be running on a generator, the lighting was dim. There was a strange smell that I had never noticed before. Only canned goods were on display, no fresh or frozen products. I was reminded of the winter I spent in St. Petersburg, Russia in 1992/93.

The "Extra" Market on Irvington Avenue

The store is mostly frequented by African - and Latin American customers, who make up the majority of the population in my neighborhood. I’ve never seen so many white people in the store as during the week after the storm, while the stores in Maplewood village were still out of power.

The following day, Thursday, I made the same observation on the 107 bus, which I take to go to the city. Most people who live in the village take the train, because that’ s where the train station is, but the tracks and power lines had been so badly damaged that service wasn’t resumed until this week.

Three days after the storm, Manhattan looked surprisingly normal north of 42nd street. Due to the defective crane that I’m sure everybody’s seen on TV and in the newspaper, the neighborhood around Carnegie Hall was closed off. Deserted streets in Manhattan on a weekday appeared more sensational to me than their cause. Central Park was closed, but my favorite coffee stand was open. I treated myself to a coffee and took some time to meditate about the sight of the crane behind the Maine Monument at Columbus Circle before going to my piano lesson.

Deserted Street near Columbus Circle, Manhattan

The damaged crane

Maine Memorial and damaged crane at Columbus Circle

Ferrara's Cafe, Columbus Circle/Central Park

Nobody knew about the storm yet when the Met programmed this opera.

Restaurants on Columbus Avenue

The Upper Westside, where my teacher lives, had survived the storm without major damage. The power had stayed on, a reason to count your blessings. The only thing my teacher complained about was the fact that NYU students weren’t showing up for their lessons. The subway wasn’t running, and nobody seemed to have thought of sharing a cab...

After my lesson, I walked across to the East Side on 79th street, which cuts through Central Park. Usually it’s an eerie walk on a narrow sidewalk that sees few pedestrians. That Thursday, it looked like the major training ground for the marathon, which was called off the following day.

At the 92nd street Y, I attended Andras Schiff’s performance of the 2nd book of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, which I liked much better than his interpretation of Book I . Even if he’s not using the pedal, there is no question that he’s a marvelous pianist, and inspiring performer of Bach’s music.

It wasn’t until after the concert that I realized the subway was not only running - with limited service down to 42nd street - using it was also free! I missed the last express bus to Maplewood at Port Authority, but after five minutes, an unscheduled “local” showed up. “Get on, you guys, I’m running four hours late,” the bus driver urged the waiting passengers..

When I got home around midnight, I noticed trash bags by the side of the house. Friday is trash collection in our neighborhood. Did that mean we’re getting back to normal?I’ve never felt so much satisfaction over taking out the trash as I did that night.

Normalcy - on Sunday, Central Park was open again. Even though the marathon had been cancelled, runners from all over the world gathered in the park for a friendly Sunday-morning run. “This is not a race, we’re just running for the fun of it,” one of them explained. Most facilities for the marathon had already been set up, when the event was cancelled. Regardless of the distance covered, everybody who made it across the finish-line got a hearty cheer from the crowd that Sunday morning.
As every Sunday, people were walking their dogs and enjoy breakfast outside. Enough people made it to choir so we could sing. As far as we knew, everybody was ok, even if they hadn’t been able to come. Gas was rationed, limiting mobility. Some had lost power and moved in with friends, or they had left the city in order to be with family members in New Jersey and New York State.

Marathon cancelled? We're running anyway.

Sunday morning dog meet in Central Park

In the afternoon, the adult player’s group of the Leschetizky Association met at the apartment of a member who lives on the 58 the floor of a high rise near Lincoln Center. The first question everybody asked on entering the apartment: “Lou, how did you make it through the storm?” At this height, the house is slightly swaying even under normal circumstances. “ It was scary, the house was swaying so much, I felt seasick. I went down to the lobby. Our greatest fear was that we’d lose power and get stuck in the elevator, but everything was ok.” Others had lost power, but nobody complained. It seemed a small thing compared to those who had lost everything. “We’re so fortunate that we have music, and that we’re able to share it,” someone said. The company of good friends was never so comforting. “I had the feeling nobody really wanted to leave,” Debbie said later, when we were out in the street.

“The storm reminds us of the randomness of life,” the minister had said during the sermon in the morning. You may have gotten away this time, but next time, it may be your turn. At some time, it will be your turn.

It’s always like that, but most of the time, you don’t notice until it hits so close you can feel it. Practice appreciation of what you have while you have it. Be thankful, remember - at least for a while.